Fall means football is back!
I played high school football for all of one day. I was in tenth grade, and while basketball was my primary focus, our hoops coach suggested we play a different sport in the fall—any sport—as a means to get in shape for basketball.
My options were basically football or cross country, and cross country just didn’t make sense to me, running just to run. Instead, I chose football. I liked watching football. I understood football. I was athletic. I’d played with my friends in backyards. I figured football would be something I could do.
A coach issued me a locker full of equipment, including a helmet, shoulder pads, and a selection of padding to stuff into the internal pockets in my short pants. Once I decoded how to get dressed, I stumbled out to the practice field, where I assumed I’d be assigned to train with skill players—the running backs or receivers. Instead, I was directed over alongside the offensive linemen, a group of guys with husky builds similar to my own. We spent about an hour squatting and grappling in the aggressive late-summer humidity, learning how to block for the players who were deemed more skillful than we were.
Toward the end of practice, the coaches gathered us in the center of the field and announced that we would be doing something called the Oklahoma drill. Several of the players clapped and hooted. For the uninitiated, this is a drill where one defender squares off against one blocker between two boundaries, while a ballcarrier attempts to run past the defender. Basically, the job of the blocker is to occupy the defender just long enough for the ballcarrier to sprint through.
After watching a few rounds, it was my turn. I got into a newly taught three-point stance and lined up across from my friend Jamar, who was one of our starting defensive linemen. A running back lingered behind me, ready to shoot the gap. A coach blew a whistle, and I exploded off the line to engage Jamar. Pretty much immediately, Jamar tossed me aside, reached out and swallowed up the running back, lifted him into the air and slammed him to the ground. A collective “Oooh” went up from our teammates circling us. I staggered to my feet and went over to check on the running back, who was fine if a bit embarrassed.
The next day, I switched to cross country.
While watching football requires a comfortable seat and perhaps an ice-cold drink and snacks, playing football was something totally different. My football career may have been short-lived, but my love for football never waned. Which is what makes this time of the year so exciting: The past Sunday was our last Sunday without football until February. We have survived the long, tough summer, and now as cool, crisp fall air creeps into our lives, college and pro football awaits us, with all the accompanying questions. Can Charles Huff take the Memphis Tigers to the next level? Will Indiana repeat without Fernando Mendoza? What random team will win the NFL’s race to the Super Bowl?
Playing football requires a specific set of skills, one it turned out, I was not suited for.
I may not be much of a football player, but as a football viewer, I am among the elite.
And my time to shine is right around the corner.